


Broken Bird Syndrome

by Dino_Cattivo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Caretaker Jason Todd, Dick Grayson is Batman, Family, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Mentioned Damian Wayne, Mentioned Dick Grayson, Sad Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, enemies to caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dino_Cattivo/pseuds/Dino_Cattivo
Summary: Tim has given everything for his family but now that he is injured and in desperate need of assistance he finds himself left alone. Help comes from someone he would never suspected could be an ally.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 40
Kudos: 513





	Broken Bird Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> I found [this](https://abluescarfonwaston.tumblr.com/post/627655063946592256/trope-enemy-to-caretaker) wonderful Trope on tumblr I had never heard of before and fell instantly in love. I knew of enemies to friends but this is so much more intimidate.
> 
> I used a different edeting software this time with had a lot more grammar recommentedations but a lot less spelling so I'm a bit unsure if it is still readable. I would be really glad if I could get feedback

Tim groaned as he curled tighter into himself, trying to make himself less of a target, his knees pulled up against his soft belly and his arms shielding his head to protect himself against the kicks raining down on him. Every part of his body was screaming in agony, the taste of blood was on his tongue and there was a ringing in his ears as his vision swam around the edge making him nauseous.

_ Why was he even trying to shield himself anymore? _

_ He was in pain, a few of his ribs at least cracked, more likely even broken, his left wrist useless, his angle not able to carry any weight, the reinforced material of his shirt was sticking to his waist by his blood and he had a concussion. _

_ Why prolong the inevitable? Why continue to suffer? When it would be so easy to just give up? _

_ Because the truth was Tim was beaten, bleeding and slowly dying. _

_ There was no way he could escape on his one, he didn’t even have enough strength left to sit up on his own and there would be no one coming to his rescue. He was all alone. Forsaken. Forgotten. _

_ Left behind by the people he called family once more. Still an unwanted child no one could care about or love. He hadn’t been enough for them again. _

_ Damian, his little brother, because that was who Damian was no matter how much he denied it, hated him. Despised him to the point of pulling a blade on him and going in for the kill. Nothing Tim tried could get him to stop his regular assaults, and nobody stepped in to help as they came up with excuses in hindsight of Damians troubled childhood. It came to where Tim didn’t feel safe enough at the manor, not his home, just the manor, to rest and let his guard down. He much preferred staying alone in an apartment in Gotham and just going to the manor when he was well rested and ready to defend himself. _

_ Dick has made his choice. When he took Robin from him and gave it to Damian, leaving Tim without purpose. When he didn’t listen to Tim’s pleading. When he discarded Tim’s theories as mere temper tantrums. When he stopped being the brother Tim had looked up to. And with this everything Tim had worked for just gone. There was no place in the family left for Tim. _

_ And Bruce...Bruce was gone. Not death. Bruce couldn’t be dead, wasn’t allowed to be dead. Tim wouldn’t survive burying another father. But his dad was gone. At least at the moment. Lost in time. Because yes, there life was that much of a shitshow. Not that anyone believed him when he presented his proof. _

_ As he thought about how lost Bruce must be Tim was hit by a wave of grief. Somewhere in the past stranded, on his own, not knowing what was happening and with no way to get himself back to the present. And now that Tim was dying with no one willing to bring him home. Tim should be more concerned that this was what broke his heart as he faced his demise. Not his own mortality, but his inability to save Bruce one last time. But that was who he had been lived for others, his self-set mission of keeping Batman sane and healthy. _

_ Only that it had stopped being about Batman long ago. It had stopped being about hero worship and honoring Jason’s memory the moment he got his own room in the manor. When he thought he could stay and be loved and treasured, just like he loved and treasured in return. It had started being about family. _

_ He had been wrong. He was never part of their family. Just a replacement. _

_ So Tim saw no reason to push his distress button or reach for the com. There would be nobody coming to save him, anyway. This way he could at least pretend they didn’t know and not actively ignored him. It was less hurtful. At least a little. _

_ He was losing focus as time passed, but he came back to himself a little when suddenly the onslaught of new pain stopped. _

_ Did they have enough? Were they leaving him to die now? _

_ Steps, room to breathe, the light of the streetlamp reflecting in the puddle he was laying in. _

_ Bam! _

_ He couldn’t stop the flinch at the loud noise, shotgun, his mind supplied, but the absence of pain suggested the projectile hadn’t torn apart his flesh. _

_ Screams, hurried footsteps, returning firing of handguns, shotgun, thud of a body hitting the ground, splattering of the puddle, pain in his back, curses and stumbling, bam, warm splatters on the unprotected part of his face, wails and crying, heavyweight falling on his legs, sticky warm soaking his trousers, running, bam, bam bam… _

_ Silence. _

_ Tim shivered, eyes pressed close, tears rolling down his face. Afraid. His heat fluttering in his chest. Afraid, afraid, afraid. Footsteps getting closer and closer, coming right at him. _

_ He let go, welcoming the darkness. _

  
  


_ ~*~ _

_ He came to confused and disoriented, everything was fuzzy, the smell of antiseptic was in the air reminding him of a hospital but much lighter, the sheets under him soft and nice. It took him a moment to register that he must be on pain meds. There were still some aches, but they were dull. Someone had come for him, carried him all the way to safety, bandaged him up and even gave him pain meds so he could take deep breaths and not get hypomania. _

_ That didn’t sound like something thugs would do. In fact, he only knew a handful of people who would take such good care of him when injured. Tim couldn’t help the happy squeeze of his heart. They had come for him. Dick had found out he was in danger and had come for him and brought him back to the manor to rest in the med bay. Any moment now Alfred would come to check on him. _

_ And indeed he could hear the cracking of a door and soft footsteps. It was a mammoth task to open his eyes, but it would be worth it for seeing his family. He blinked against the sun disturbing his vision, wondering why Alfred hadn’t closed the blinds on the med bay...only the med bay had no windows. In fact, there were no windows in the cave at all.  _

_ His breath caught as the realisation sung in. _

_ He wasn’t safe. _

_ His family hadn’t come for him. _

_ Tim wanted to turn around and look at whoever had taken him but he stopped himself and tried to stay calm remembering his training. Information first, confrontation later. In a situation like this, you needed every advantage you could get. So he closed his eyes again, relaxed his muscles, evened his breathing and tried to calm his racing heart as best he could, giving a very convincing act of being still deeply asleep. _

_ “Pff, stop playing I know you are awake pretender,” came a voice from behind him and he couldn’t stop all his muscles from sizing up as every alarm bell in his mind went off. He spun around to face the Red Hood and lunged at him, trying to go for a surprise attack, but the bindings and chains around his arms and legs quickly stopped his movements, keeping him mostly in place and not letting him off the bed. _

_ Stilled like this his body caught up with the activity and despite the heavy painkillers he was on he could feel pure agony which made him whimper but he bit his lip, holding back any more sounds, unwilling to give Hood the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. _

_ “Hood,” he said once he had his breathing back and didn’t feel like he needed to throw up any second. Forcing the emotions out of the voice and the poker-face back on was exhausting, but he couldn't show any weakness. But he couldn't control his body like his emotions, so he opted to curl his fingers in the blanket to hide their shaking. Showing weakness was not an option. Not in front of him. He had to be strong. Whatever Hood wanted, he couldn’t give in. _

_ Because obviously Hood wanted something from him, there was no other reason to save him. Something that outweighed the benefits of finally having his pretender whipped from this earth. Not that Tim could be sure that Hood wouldn’t correct this the moment he had what he wanted. _

_ Maybe it was information, maybe access to the Batcomputer or just luring the family out- jokes on him if it was the last. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good if it involved Hood. So Tim would rather die on principal than give it to him. _

_ Usually in a situation like this, taken by a hostile party with ulterior motives and heavily injured, the standard procedure would be to lie low, avoid attention and therefore more harm, and wait for the family to come to the rescue. Only problem was no one would notice he was missing. Not before Hood’s patience ran out or Tim couldn’t stand the suffering of the captivity anymore. They trained against torture to some extent, sure, but he wasn’t prepared to resist for weeks. _

_ His only, any very slim chance of survival was escaping out of his own strength. And therefore he needed Hodd to lower his guard and all the information he could get. _

_ “Replacement,” was the acknowledgment he got as Hood looked at him leaning against the door clad in sweatpants and a hoodie with clear amusement in his eyes. And for one moment it took Tim’s breath away because it had been so long since he had seen this face without a mask or an angry snarl. It reminded him of the mischievous glint in Robin's eyes he had seen so often and always strode to capture on film whatever change he got. It was so typical for Jason. _

_ And then Hood took a step forward into the room and the smirk grew wider and mocking as he drawled. _

_ “Well, well, well, look what we got here. A hurt little bird.” _

_ And Tim was suddenly very aware what the implication of Hood not hiding his face meant. Like in any hostage situation, seeing the face of your kidnapper meant you wouldn’t make it out alive. _

_ Even if they knew that it was Jason behind the mask, the point still stood. To let show himself like this. So open in his casual clothes, almost vulnerable. He wouldn’t let Tim live to talk. This got only reinforced by the realisation that this must be in one of Hood's nicer safe houses, probably his favorite if the small luxuries scattered through the room were a sign. There was no way he would let anyone live who knew about this. _

_ “What do you want?” _

_ “Why should I want something? Maybe I just felt like doing a good deed, getting the karma back in balance, you know? It is kinda paranoid to just assume everybody wants something from you.” _

_ “Cut the bullshit Hood. What. Do. You. Want?” _

_ Okay, so antagonizing his capturer wasn’t the best idea, Tim would easily admit that, but the uncertainty of being in the dark was slowly driving him insane. If he knew he could prepare, come up with excuses, make an estimate of how much time he had and how long he could stall. Clueless like this, he felt helpless. _

_ “Really kid, I want nothing. I’m perfectly fine. Outstandingly so you could say. Got to kill a few thugs, be the knight in shining armor, gloat over your incompetence. A good night all around.” _

_ Hood was grinning again. He must know exactly what this did to Tim. But Tim could adapt. He always could. Had needed to in a world where no one cared about him, where he was on his own. If Hood wanted to play games, they could play games. The longer it took for Hood to ask for something, the more time Tim had to plot his escape. _

_ Tim looked around, not even trying to be subtle. It would be pointless in front of someone so well trained, but never turned his back to Hood or let him out of his sign in case the man tried anything. _

The room was obviously a bedroom, Hood's bedroom to be exact. Not luxurious, but significantly better than he had imagined. Bright with an enormous window, his escape route, looking out in a suburban neighborhood - no wonder they hadn’t found Hood’s hideout as they had mostly concentrated their search on the narrows. The wall opposite the bed held a dark wardrobe boxed in by shelves filled to the brim with books. The other wall held the door Hood stood in and one next to it, which Tim assumed must lead to the bathroom. The bed was King sized, high quality and freshly washed sheets. The night stances were cleared and the books and lamps placed on the floor out of Tim’s reach.

Tim was chained to the bed by his hands and ankles, unable to do much. He had a bit of wriggle room, but not enough to reach the edge of the bed or get up. And they were good cuffs. The kinds even a bat had a hard time getting out of. And yep, he was naked with all his equipment, which could have helped him open the locks gone. Well, not completely naked naked. He was clothed in a lot of bandages and one pair of very loose fitting boxers but he could as well be nude with how useful that would be to his break out.

He hated being kidnapped by capable people. It was the worst. Not the fact that Hood had seen him bare, he couldn’t care less about his modesty in a situation like this, but that he had taken all means of escape or defense from him. Tim was basically a sitting duck, completely at Hood's mercy.

“Everything up to standards? Should I fluff your pillow Sir?”

“Very mature.”

“Well, what can I say apparently dying does age you.”

Tim just huffed and inspected the cuff around his left wrist, pulling to see how much leeway he had. Suddenly he saw movement in the corner of his eyes and scrambled backwards, his mind screaming threat, threat, threat as Hood had taken another step towards the bed.

The pain he felt as his back collided with the headrest was intense, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get away, regain some distance, but there was no room. He struggled to kick, pulling at the chains, uncaring about the strain it put on his body.

“Woah woah. STOP. STOP IT!”

There were hands on his shoulder holding him in place, but that just gave Tim one more thing to struggle again, to escape.

His battle only came to a halt when a much bigger body curled around him, half on top pressing him down with its pure weight making Tim unable to move at all.

In any other situation Tim would welcome having someone so close, to feel their warmth and bath in the feeling of safety it provided. But not like this. Not if it wasn’t his family, the people he loved.

“What the hell, kid? Do you want to rip your stitches and bleed out?”

And Tim just fell apart. He had promised himself to be strong to show no weakness, but it was all too much. Too much uncertainty, too much pain, too much fear, too much loneliness. He started crying. Heavy ugly sobs which did nothing for his ribs and only made him hurt more, but he couldn’t stop.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?”

And with this he finally faded into unconsciousness.

  
  


~*~

  
  


Jason looked down at the kid resting under him, making sure he was unconscious and wouldn’t do anything stupid again before carefully getting up. He didn’t know why he had saved Red, had stepped out of the shadows and killed all the scum kicking the shit out of the guy.

It was illogical, stupid, careless. More trouble than a shitty kid like that was worth.

If any of the Bats caught him with a broken bird, there would be no questions asked. It would be straight to Arkham for him to the insane where the man who killed him happily reigned.

And he had not a single doubt that the Bats would find them, eventually. Maybe not today, not tomorrow or not even in a month, but they would do so. They were detectives after all and had resources Jason could only dream of.

The boy was his precious replacement, the one who had taken everything from Jason, Robin, his place in the family, his father's love. They would come for him, tearing everything down in their rage to get to the kid and Jason would suffer.

He should just have stayed away, turned around and walked as he saw the kid laying on the ground. Let nature run its natural course. Let time to his work. He had tried and failed to end the kid's lives himself only to pay the price. And then some low level thugs had practically been doing the job for him. All he would have to do was wait and the pretender would be gone. But he had stepped in.

He hadn’t even thought about it or made a conscious decision. The moment he had seen the kid lying limp on the ground curled into himself trying to protect himself from the kicks but not even attempting to fight back, escape or reach for communication Jason had moved. Just like back in his Robin days, he had just wanted to protect.

Not that he was too angry about it. Seeing a group of grown men standing around a helpless kid, laughing while beating him, made him sick. No kid deserved to end up like this, like him. Beaten and slowly bleeding out while gasping for air with broken ribs, hoping but knowing that no one would be in time to save them.

There should be no more death birds in the name of a pointless crusade. Jason should always be the last.

Still, seeing the scene in the alley had brought up memories he had almost forgotten.

Had it looked like that when he had sought the kid out after coming back, wearing the mockery of a Robin costume and letting the anger over his father betrayal out on his new pet project? Would the kid have stopped fighting back and just curled up on the floor waiting for his end if Jason had continued? Would he really have ended up with a child's blood on his hands?

Was there a difference between his act of violence and what those men had done? Or was he just like them? Had he fallen that low? Was he just like the people he tried to defeat?

Not that all of it really mattered now. There was a new kid already, this time the blood son, apparently. The pretender was just as easily replaceable as he himself had been. Wasn’t that ironic? If Jason still had an ounce of kinship left, he would feel sorry for the kid, but that part of him had died the first time he had pulled a trigger and ended someone's life.

He checked the bandages, just like Alfred had taught him, every thought of the elderly man still hurting. The stitches had held and the kid wouldn’t bleed out any minute.

All the bindings and chains may be a bit overkill to keep a bird as injured as this one down, but damn the kid was bendy and had nifty fingers. Even if Jason had taken all his clothes to treat his wounds unarming him, that was no guarantee that the kid wouldn't find another way to get out.

And Jason would be damned if he let the kid run around ribbing all the stitches which had taken hours to put in so nearly to reduce scarring just for the boy to bleed out on the floor. Plus, the rug in his bedroom was cream colored and so soft Jason loved to get up in the morning and just rub his toes in it before he went to the bathroom. If the kid left any blood on it, he would legitimately put a bullet through his skull in annoyance.

  
  


~*~

When Tim came to next his head was much clearer, the pain more prominent, but he preferred some discomfort if it meant his mind was sharp, and it wasn’t like he was free of medication.

He looked around noticing that it was dark out, he must have been passed out for quite some time. Long enough for Hood to change the dressing of his wounds, re-wrap his ribs and get him in a pair of loose fitting sweatpants.

A bottle of water was strategically placed so he could easily reach it, but without the chance of rolling on it in his sleep. It reminded him how long it had been since he had something to drink. He greedily grabbed the bottle and cracked the seal but stopped before taking a sip.

Hood was good enough he could have put something in it without breaking the seal. Tim had no way of testing it, to be sure. He couldn’t risk it. His gut launched as he recapped the bottle and pushed it away until it rolled over the edge of the bed and onto the carpet with a soft tut. But it was better to keep the temptation away.

He only had a few minutes to scheme before the door was pushed open and a bleary-eyed Hood entered. He picked up the bottle with a frown on his way to the bed and held it out for Tim.

“You are awake again.”

Tim looked at the bottle with narrowed eyes and shook his head, which only got him a frown.

“You need to drink something. You lost a lot of blood, hydration is important,” when Tim just bit his lip, Hood signed, “seriously replacement? Do I really have to drink before you?”

He knew that he was pushing it, should just admit defeat and drink, make his capturer happy, but he couldn't. He had to know what Hood was playing at, why he pretended to be nice. To care. And this was as good a chance as any to test his limits.

Because Hood’s actions were a lie. He only needed some pushing and he would lose it, show his true colors. It would hurt, but Tim could deal with it. He could suffer through some pain. It was better than this fakeness which set his nerves on fire.

“You could still poison it. You would just have to take the antidote or put it in after you-”

“For god’s sake kid just take the goddamn water and drink or I will get an IV and force you!”

Tim flinched. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew that this would happen, had aimed for it and had bet on Hood's short fume. Still with Hood towering over him, threading, screaming, he just reacted. It was too similar to the last time. Even if his mind knew that Hood would hurt him and had taken the calculated risk, his body still reacted, curling into himself, hiding, protecting his soft belly and head.

It took him a moment to realize that the high whimpering sounds were coming from him.

“Aww, shit.”

Hood let the bottle fall onto the bed and sat down on the edge, but not coming closer. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“I suck at this whole compassion thing kid.”

He leaned down and got a box of tissues from under the bed and threw it over and Tim just snatched the flying object out of the air on reflection, staring at it.

“This,” he gestured between them, “can only work if we try. This means no more pissing of the unstable zombie and in return I will not make fun of you anymore, alright?”

Tim nodded numbly. Not because he had no other choice but because Hood looked tired, stressed, and the small part of himself which hadn’t been able to let go of his worship for Robin just wanted to help. So he agreed.

“So hands on the table kid. I don’t know why I saved you. Eh ne ne. I’m talking, you just listen. I didn’t plan any of this. I just stumbled over you after having a talk with a drug dealer close by. And I know the better option would have been to just leave you there for the Bats to find, but a Robin being beaten to death is apparently kind of a trigger for me. Who would have thought?”

Tim couldn’t help a wince at the reminder of how similar it must have looked like to Hood's run in with death.

“So yeah not my decision really but now you are here and I don’t want to deal with the shitshow of you dying on me. Frankly, you are annoying and a big inconvenience so the faster you heal enough to not bleed out when sitting up and get out of my hair the better, capeese? This includes drinking your goddamn water, eating and not ripping stitches.”

He couldn’t believe it. He looked at the other man searching for signs of deception but couldn’t find any. Hood was serious. He, the guy who hated him and his family, who had tried to kill him on multiple occasions and lost his cool on the slightest provocation, had just wanted to save him. There were no sinister intentions behind the bandages, the water or medication. Just the will to nurse him back to health.

“They wouldn’t have come.”

“Pardon?”   
  


“The rest they wouldn’t have...forget it.”   
  


“ **What do you mean they wouldn’t have come?** Was your com broken? Your emergency signal jammed?”   
  


Tim just shook his head and could see Hood’s eyes widen as the realisation threw.   
  
“Fuck. FUCK.  **FUCKING HELL!** ”

He was furious but this time Tim didn’t flinch away as Hood jumped to his feet, paced and finally hit the wall next to the bathroom door so hard he went straight through wallpaper and into drywall.

“ **What the hell? Has Bruce learned nothing?”** **  
  
**

It hit Tim suddenly that Jason, because this was Jason, the son, the young man not the Hood, didn’t know. He didn’t know about his father. Because no one had told him, had seen it necessary to let him know. All he had was the flimsy cover story like the rest of Gotham. He must believe Bruce was hurt and recovering while brooding about cold cases in the cave.

And now it fell back to Tim to break it to him. He really wished he didn’t have to, but who else was there?

  
“Jason,” Tim’s tone was soft, careful and Jason spun around looking at him with wide sad eyes.

“No. NO.  **That can’t be** . He...he...he is Batman.”   
  


Tim swallowed, unsure what to do as Jason sunk back down on the edge of the bed. He knew that there was no way Jason would believe his theory, but he has a right to know didn’t he?

“That is what everyone is thinking.”

“Everyone?”   
  


“Well...I..there are clues. I found them. In museums and in old books. All over the timeline.”   
  


“He is in the past?”   
  


“That's what I suspect.”   
  


“So what have you and Goldie done so far to get him back?”

And Tim shuffled around awkwardly, a stabbing pain in his chest. How came that his family, his brother, didn’t even consider his thesis even with all the evidence, because he was young and inexperienced. But Jason, his enemy - former enemy - had so much confidence in his ability he just took his words as truth with no proof.

“He didn’t believe me.”

“Are you telling me right now that Bruce is somewhere lolling around in times of plagues and war and Goldie is too high up his own ass to do anything… he is the one right? Batman? The one that wouldn’t come for you?”

Tim didn’t have to answer; it was obvious.

“Fucking damn it. Why? What makes him so much better than the rest of us so he can just do what he wants and decide what's true or not?”

“Damian.”

“Ahh right. The replacement being replaced. What a load of bullshit. He really prefers a 10-year-old murderer over you?”

Tim just shrugged, watching Jason gesture around animated. It was fascinating how Jason was getting this agitated on his behalf. Where Tim had kept his anger in and had tried to stay calm Jason cursed and screamed in his name. Because Tim couldn’t, hadn’t been raised that way, needed to be an obedient son.

“Fuck how can he not only be the worst older brother but also a terrible Batman, more incompetent than Bruce ever was, and he let me fucking die. How long is Bruce gone? A week? Two? Two. Shit, just two weeks and he has messed up that bad already.”

Jason let himself fall on his back, bouncing, groaning as he rubbed his eyes.

“As you can see, I don’t really have a place to go back to. So would it be possible to take these off if I promise not to climb out of the window and get blood all over your white carpet?”

“That's cream you heathen,” Jason grumbled but dutifully reached into his pocket to get the key and unlock the chains.

Tim wasn’t really surprised when he saw all the abrasion from his earlier struggle left already dressed. Jason really was serious about this whole taking care of him thing. Damn, he was just as much of a mother hen as Alfred.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry. It looks like you won’t get rid of me soon.”

“Thats okay. I will just have to punch Goldie extra hard the next time I see him...with a crowbar.”

“Kinda dramatic.”

“Did you die? No? Then shut up and leave my and my jokes alone.”

Tim huffed in amusement. Now that he didn’t expect to be taken care of executioner style any minute, he could appreciate Jason’s humour.

“What's the plan?”

“What plan?”

“The one to get B back.”

“You...you are asking for my opinion?”

“Well yeah. Kid, you are the clever, scheming one. My MO is more like shoot it and if shooting doesn’t work, blow shit up. Which sounds kinda questionable with time. You can’t really make the timeline go boom except if you are a speedster. So, let’s keep that as Plan B for now if everything else should fail.”

“You want to help me?”

“Kid you are full of holes, you will not leave this bed in foreseeable future and letting you kill yourself while trying, would make all my hard work of keeping you alive kinda useless.”

His words may be harsh, but he was sincere. He would help. Funny, the one most inclined to help him was the last person he expected.   
  


“I need a laptop,” he frowned. “My laptop.”   
  


“Mine isn’t that bad.” Jason grumbled but Tim was sure he would drive over to Tim’s place and get the tech once the sun was back up.

“Now move over Tim Tam. My back is killing me and I have a king-size bed. I knew I should have gone with another sofa. But this one was on sale and it goes great with the floor and wallpaper.”

Tim dutifully moved over as Jason wiggled his way under the sheets, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the warmth of another person.

It would be alright. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Robin, his Robin at his side.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always welcome especially consitering the spelling because I used a new edeting software.


End file.
